By Absence of The Moon
by sunkistromance
Summary: Akasha is a vampire who would like nothing more than to just settle down and live peacefully. But allegations have kept her on the run and her running has led her to none other than Forks, WA.
1. Chapter 1: Dreams

The morning of my sixth birthday was a bloodbath.

Red Splattered among the streets of my home-my Africa. Only the infectious buzz of flies, blood thirsty and vulture like was heard. I did not wish to see the rest-what became of my home, I did not. But like a child, a curious young child, I walked. I walked the path of death.

The sun awoke me that morning, its myriad of rays searing my skin and its scarlet hue evocative of the chaos that swept through the night before. The scene laid out before me.

The rain fell down hard; its darkened skies illuminated by saffron and red. Houses lay either in rubble or a part of the conflagration that has stolen the town. People scattered like frightened mice and flee hoping to escape the horror that has graced the town with its presence.

I want to move. But I can't.

I stand and watch.

Horrified and Bewitched.

A glint of silver parts the dance of the crimson butterflies and blackened moths and I see a face, His face. But the dancing creatures obstruct my view.

Eyes. With an insatiable luster.

Lips. Slender and slightly parted.

More.

The ever elusive mouth reveals its secret.

Obscene and glistening red. Both beautiful and sickening at the same time.

I walk closer, almost enticed with danger of blackened moths, crimson butterflies and unseen faces.

Closer.

My heart races.

Closer.

My eyes only reflect the desire that this danger holds.

Closer.

I can smell the musky scent of draining life, of burning ash, of clashing steel.

Closer.

I'm so close. Nothing matters but him. Even if I can hear the screams fall before me. Sad and sick. Mad. Desperate cries. Anxious, Terrified shrieks. Only him.

Closer.

Beep.  
Beep.  
Beep.

And I wake up.

I half laughed out of frustration. He always left me longing to see his face.  
He always seemed to elude me, whoever, whatever he was. And for that, I hated him.


	2. Chapter 2: Cantebury

Click. Click. Crunch. The beeping ceased in an almost immediate fashion as she brought her hand down on the small black clock. acheived it's goal and the girl blinked at the speckled ceiling.

Good Morning.

Getting up from her place in the small twin sized bed, she stretched-her spine crackling as she did so. Rubbing her eyes, strolled over to her vertically inclined dresser (as she liked to call it) and looked into the mirror that was attached to the peak of it.

She frowned as looked upon the form in front of her in that mirror. There in the reflection was herself-or rather a pale sort of rendition of herself. Her skin had lightened immensely and even though it had been fifty years that she had been cursed with this skin, it always seemed to shock her when she looked at it. Her eyes looked tired as usual, the honey color a shade darker than it was yesterday. This alarmed her a bit but forcing the thought from her mind for now, she focused on the rest of her features.

Her lips were rather full, soft and perfectly shaped. Many people told her that she had incredibly beautiful lips. That they wanted to kiss those lips. And, well some other things that made her uncomfortable. That every part of her was beautiful, to the elongated locks russet locks, to her slender frame, to her heart shaped face. She laughed at this. She thought the notion was ridiculous. To her, the only thing that she was thoroughly impressed by was her nose, and she felt that she did the poor thing no justice. Her hair was too long and she felt it only weighed down her appearence and the color was a bit on the odd side with contrast to her skin. She thought she was too skinny, and lacked the sufficient curves to attract anyone for the matter. Along with that, her face shape reminded her vaguely of something pointy but she couldn't place exactly what. And her lips? You don't even want to know.

Pulling herself from the mirror, she thought back to her dream and the boy.

She'd been having that same dream for weeks now, the fire, the brown-eyed boy whose face never came quite clear. The fighting, the scent, the screams-it seemed all too real. Like she had been transported back in time to that day. That day where she lost everything in a span of one night. This boy was new though. She never recalled one like him, with those eyes, and that mouth…

She just wasn't getting it. Where had he come from? She didn't remember meeting him, she knew she would know it. Those eyes, they...they were too...special to not be remembered. Maybe she was overthinking it. Yes, that is exactly what she was doing...right? But her dreams, they told her things. They weren't just spontaneous figmentations, these ones meant something. _Think, Akasha, think. The scene was set in my village. It was the same scene...the night...the burning homes...And people were screaming. What was it they said? They said...they said...the hooded ones. _

_Damn._

She had been so focused on the stupid boy that she neglected the most important part of the dream. The Voices. What the voices were telling her. _They_ were coming. She would have to go again. Rushing through her home she collected a couple of matches, stuck them and threw them into fireplace. She did not watch as the fire grew within the stoned frame-she had left and rushed to her bedroom returning with several items of clothing, pictures and such. Sniffling a bit-she chucked them all into the fire watching her memories burn.

She had been living in Cantebury, England for several years before she had decided it was time to move again. She was going to miss this seaside town and the fresh, crisp breezes that the Atlantic provided and the washed white siding of her home. She was going to miss the poppy red shutters and the lavender flowers that were placed neatly outside her door beneath the windows. She'd miss the big tree in the back and the tire swing that sat on the branch and her friends and her cat Russell. She'd miss him the most. There was a lot of things she was going to miss. This had been her home, the place she had come to love and now it was time to leave.

As if to shake herself free from her memories and all the attachments that she had created, all the people she had loved, the people she had hated, she shook her head lightly and continued on burning her things.

This wouldn't have been the first time she had to leave, no she had been on the run for over fifty years constantly dodging _them_. She had been involved with perhaps twenty or so moves over the past two decades and who knew how many more past that. They had accused her of _murder_, of threatening to _expose_ their kind, of _treason_-anything that they could catch her on they accused her of. She had committed none of it. The only crime she was guilty of was fleeing their inevitable punishment. Death.

She blamed him. Blamed him for everything. For making her this way, for leading those people to her. She had done nothing to wrong him, she was merely a little six year old when they had met. If anything they should be after him-he was the bloodthirsty the one. The one who wiped entire villages off the map. He had done it on multiple occasions-including wiping out her own. He was the monster.

_Fire._

She would focus on that for now. She didn't need the stress nor the negativity. Soon enough she would be gone again and it would be as if she never existed.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Please do not threaten to attack me with lawyers. Twilight and respective characters of the said series belong to Stephenie Meyer. So back the fuck off before I get evil zombie chicken minions on your ass for harrassment. Thank you and have a nice day :)


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